The Title Was Too Long, See Below For Details
by Betty-duh duh duuuuh
Summary: Betty Jumped into the Cupboard and Everyone Loved Her Because She Was Nice...
1. Chapter 1

**Authors' Note - This was written by two people (a paragraph each). We are a joint team. So if it doesn't flow then apologies in advance though hopefully you can't tell at all. The idea was to put as much description and inane paragraphs in as possible. **

**Advanced Warnings - This is a mick take, if you hadn't guessed, on all those Mary Sue stories out there where the heroine enters the wardrobe and then immediately falls in love with Edmund/Peter. However, ours is with a twist. Also, before you think its a self-insert, its not. Our names are not Betty. That was merely an example I used when I was ranting about the terrible Mary-Sues. **

**Enjoy - We hope you enjoy!**

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**Betty Jumped into the Cupboard and Everyone Loved Her Because She Was Nice**

Betty was in the bathroom. She had brushed her teeth and was in the process of washing her face with a flannel – the material was rough and scratchy but it served its purpose well. Her thick blonde hair tumbled onto her slender shoulders like a waterfall of colour – supple and beautiful. Bringing out a wooden comb she dragged it through her golden locks and drew out the tangles. There was one particularly stubborn one behind her ear, but she managed to tug it out with a bit of effort and persistence.

And then there was the matter of getting dressed. Not only did she have to worry about picking out the appropriate clothing for a boring Saturday morning, and probably the afternoon as well, but she would need to consider the effects of her clothing on her parents, her sweetheart and her best friend. She had to weigh up the possibility that her parents wouldn't allow her to leave in her first choice of clothing with the possibility that her sweetheart wouldn't be satisfied. Her attire also had to please her best friend's need for her to be fashionable. A difficult choice.

Rifling slowly and meticulously through her large, oak wardrobe in her bedroom – which she had had since she was small, perhaps two – Betty searched for the perfect ensemble. There were dresses hanging up in the main space of the wardrobe and then there were side sections for her underwear. Also suspended were cardigans, shawls, skirts and coats, beautifully arranged in colour order – like the rainbow – from red to violet. That way she could find what she wanted immediately should she need to dash out of the door on the way to a Church meeting or a tea party with some friends down the street.

Unfortunately, her favourite blue dress was hanging out to dry. It was a delicate piece, with a blue and white checked pattern and a thick blue ribbon around the waist to emphasise her womanly curves, which she had made from an old, but still quite useful, curtain. Her mother had noted the skill involved in making a reasonably sensible and stylish dress from such a horrid curtain. So, she was lumbered with the difficult decision as to what to wear. Suddenly, the perfect dress jumped out at her (not literally, of course, metaphorically… it is quite impossible that a dress could move of its own accord). It was a green dress, with a paler bodice that had tiny white spots on it, with a darker green skirt. It was ideal for her every need in this wonderfully sunny day. She noticed this as she glanced in joy out the window; joy coming from the fact that she had found the right dress.

Slipping daintily into the soft material, Betty buttoned herself up. She then realised that she needed to accessorize for the day ahead. She couldn't exactly go out without any jewellery or hair pins in could she? Padding quietly over to her dresser, the girl searched her drawers and boxes for the perfect items which would complete her outfit. In one silk lined chest she found her favourite butterfly hair pin which was silver and studded with faux emeralds. This had been given to her by her sweetheart and she adored it with all her heart. With a bit more difficulty, she found a green beaded necklace that would hang perfectly on her snow-white breast. Her outfit was finished.

Her descent down the stairs was exceptionally elegant, considering the fact that she had to dodge three of her brothers and avoid standing on her youngest sister. Her concerned eyebrows furrowed as she pulled the child into her arms, cooing to her as she continued her path into the kitchen. Elspeth – the baby she was still carrying – struggled to reach her father when they found him reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. He drank a strong, black coffee (that Betty knew from her many experiences of making contained no sugar), lifting it slowly to his moustached lips and pausing to read a particularly interesting sentence before placing it back on the old, oak surface he sat at. Betty's eyes widened as she noticed the coffee mug stood on the table – perhaps her mother's most prized possession – with no coaster to save the wood from stains.

Diving forward, she swiftly whipped the mug up with her free hand, before it hit the timber and she juggled a mat from an adjacent counter beneath it. With a relieved smile gracing her pink lips, Betty placed her sister on the tiled floor and set about making breakfast for herself and her eight siblings. She hummed merrily as she sliced the thick white loaf on the bread board; she'd saved her flour rations for two weeks to make such a glorious loaf. The doughy aroma reached her nostrils and she inhaled the sweet scent gratefully. However, she was not the only one to smell it, as the rest of her extensive family appeared in the room, including her visiting aunt and uncle who had just popped in to say good morning. Kindly Betty offered each of them a fair serving and spread them all with the creamy butter which she had also saved up for with her rations.

Then they all convened round the table, drawing up a variety of rickety chairs on which to sit. With pleasure, Betty noticed there was one sliver left for her.

"Oh Betty dear, is there any of that wonderful looking bread left? I'm famished," her father said.

"Why," Betty replied, looking down at the remaining piece, "Of course."

Betty's shoulders would have slumped, had she not been such a loving girl; loving enough to feel contented to make her father happy. Perhaps too eagerly, she handed the slice around the hoards of people to her father, and patted her grumbling stomach, almost admonishingly. Her stomach, though originally slow to realise what was happening, quietened down as a surge of satisfaction spread through Betty. Hunger was not an option when you were that nice.

The girl took her place at the table with an empty space in front of her. Fortunately none of the rest of the family noticed because they were too busy tucking into the delightfully soft and doughy breakfast. Betty watched with gentle bliss as little Harold got butter all over his top lip and young Eric peeled off the crust with distaste and fed it to the waiting dog beneath the tablecloth. George and Michael engaged in what could only be called a mini-battle over the small pot of jam that Betty had made the day before, while Elspeth proceeded to smack Carol-Ann over the top of her pretty red head with a spoon. Being second eldest, Penny, scolded Olive for dropping her bread on the floor, telling her to 'Pick it up and make do.'

She loved her family, including Uncle David with his wandering eyes and Aunt Viola with her compulsive lying and stealing. Even as the children started to pick themselves up and dash off to play games in the garden or to flirt with Paul down the street, she remained at the table, mulling over how lucky she was to have such a lovely family. Only when her father announced that he was going to work did she notice the time: it was eight o'clock already! How lazy and selfish she was to have waited this long before doing any work around the house… now she'd never finish in time to have an afternoon picnic in the park with her sweetheart.

After quickly gathering up the dirty plates from the table and giving them a mop in the sink, Betty placed all the crockery back into the kitchen cupboards and set about wiping down all the surfaces. It was at the point that she was cleaning a window with a bowl of hot, soapy water and enjoying the warmth of the sun filtering through onto her upturned face that Harold wandered into the room. An angelic expression lit his young features as he caught sight of his eldest sister. With a sickly sweet voice he asked:

"Betty, is there anything else to eat? I'm hungry and I barely ate anything for breakfast…"

The girl turned to face him with a sympathetic smile on her face.

"Aw, Harry, I would find you something but I don't think we have anything in the cupboards. Perhaps if you went and played some more then you could take your mind off your stomach and before you know it, it will be lunch time."

Harold's innocent face contorted as he turned to trudge slowly out of the room, dragging his little feet and letting out a large sigh. Betty's heart went out to him, and she couldn't help but follow him into the hall and change her mind.

"Stop there, Harry," she laughed as his eyes looked nervously up through his lashes, "There are some secret biscuits in the kitchen. Wait here and I'll find them for you."

She left him with a grand smile across his face, but turned too soon to notice the wicked smirk that spread in victory across his face. She found the right cupboard and kneeled beside it. As her fingers stretched out to pull on the handle, the door seemed to pop open in front of her. She dismissed her assumption, and continued to draw it open, but it seemed abnormally dark… she leaned into the cupboard to pick up the pot of secret biscuits she had been hoarding for an occasion like this, but instead her fingers connected with thin air. And, seemingly impossibly, she continued her journey into the cupboard until she was no longer in the kitchen. In fact, she was no longer in England.

**Very cliched. We know. That _was _the point. Critism and comments would be welcome. It will get more interesting. Maybe.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey there, guys, thanks for the reviews. They were much appreciated and we hope you will continue to read and review throughout Betty's adventures (when we finally get round to updating each chapter). They take _forever_ to write. Seriously. So you better enjoy it. No, we won't threaten you....yet. **

**Betty Jumped into the Cupboard and Everyone Loved Her Because She Was Nice**

The sweet song of a blackbird reached her ears, echoing down from the tree canopy she now sat under. Her legs were crossed daintily in front of her as she reclined in the long, green grass. The scent of honeysuckle assailed her nose and she inhaled deeply, revelling in the aroma of nature. Her hands ran through the moss that carpeted the ground around her as she gazed upon the beauty of the world.

Through a gap in the trees, she caught sight of a pair of snow capped mountains that looked purple on the horizon, with the rising sun peeping out from between them. Stretching out before her, just past the bushes nearest to her feet, was a glorious meadow filled with daisies and butter-yellow daffodils, with the most beautiful tree that was covered in perfect white blossoms. Absentmindedly, she stood up and carried herself towards the meadow with a peaceful awe consuming her.

As she wandered idly, she pondered the revelation that she was in a world that was contained entirely by her kitchen cupboard. A beautiful, magical world, but a foreign one nonetheless. Somehow she found that she didn't mind – well, apart from not giving little Harold his biscuit – as this land was truly wonderful. She felt like Alice in Wonderland; the young girl she'd read about in a book at her siblings' bedtime. She recalled how Olive's eyes had shone with admiration as she marvelled at Alice's bravery and sense of adventure. Perhaps Betty could relive this tale her sister once she returned. What joy it would bring her.

A movement in her peripherals distracted her, so she turned her head to see a red squirrel. Its bright eyes stared down at her from a large oak, widened with shock.

"Hello, there, little fellow," she clucked, twiddling her finger in his direction.

"Um, hi." That was strange. It seemed like it came from the squirrel. That couldn't be right.

"Pardon?" Betty shook her head, trying not to be rude.

"I said 'hi'," answered the squirrel.

"Oh, well that's new. I must have hit my head." She turned to speak to the squirrel. "Now don't worry, it's not you, it's me."

"If you don't mind me asking, miss, but who in Aslan's name are you?" The tiny squirrel piped in a musical voice, his eyes bright and whiskers twitching with curiosity.

"Why, I'm Betty," she said, holding out a slender hand politely.

The squirrel eyed the proffered limb with suspicion, his velvety lips twisting in a befuddled expression. Then he scratched his head with one small paw, ruffling his russet fur into tufts.

"Er…."

"Oh golly, sorry!" Betty rearranged her hand so that only her index finger was extended.

Once he'd composed himself, brushing down his coat with a nervous paw, the little squirrel ambled forward tentatively, leaning off the branch towards her, and gingerly took her finger. Betty revelled in the softness and lightness of his touch. She'd never shaken hands with a squirrel before. Gently, she wiggled his paw so they had a semblance of a handshake.

After a moment like this, the bushy-tailed mammal let out a minuscule cough and Betty realised he wanted her to let go. With another apology, which she felt was excessively necessary in a situation where an uneasy animal was talking to her, she released him and gave him a unfaltering smile.

"I do believe this is the time for introductions…" she suggested, not wanting to press too much in case he didn't want to give his name, "As I said, I'm Betty…"

The squirrel seemed to catch the friendly hint, and nodded. "My name is Willowwhistle. Pleased to meet you." The last sentence sounded more like a question rather than a statement. Betty figured he must still be unsure about her presence. She'd have to use some of her amicability to convince him she could be trusted.

"I don't mean to press, but could you possibly tell me whereabouts we are?" Betty queried.

Tilting his crimson head, Willowwhistle looked surprised by her request. His fur rippled in the mild breeze and tints of amber flickered in the glorious sunshine that bathed the land. He raised an eyebrow confusedly.

"You don't know where we are?" he asked.

"I'm sorry; no I can't say I do. Are we in the countryside? Perhaps near Yorkshire?" Betty exclaimed. She bit her perfect, pink lips hopefully.

"I don't know where Your Shire is, unfortunately. Currently we are standing on the Dancing Lawns in the south of Narnia."

"What a delightful sounding place. Is there a lot of dancing in this land then? I do love a good jig. I remember one time when we were at the Village Fete and little Arthur – our neighbour – asked Carol-Ann to dance with him. She was pleased as punch. But I'm sorry, I'm talking all about me, do continue. Please."

"Well, that's about all there is to tell, Miss Betty, apart from the fact the High King's Camp is not too far from here. They've been there a couple of days on a trip from Cair Paravel to visit the locals and show their gratitude for years of support. Alas, the young Queens are not with them. They are renowned for their kindness, endless generosity and hospitality and I would have loved to have met them. However, as I said, they remain at the Palace." As the squirrel spoke his eyes lit up with reverence and love and Betty realised she dearly wanted to meet these lovely people.

And indeed, so did Willowwhistle, who had insisted Betty call him Willy, for everyone did. So the couple set off towards the camp, making polite conversation. Every time either ran out of something to say, the girl would comment on some aspect of the scenery, or commence a discussion about Willy's past. Betty rarely talked about herself, for she preferred to allow others to talk, instead of monopolising the conversation herself. It turned out that Willy was much older than she would have guessed – to even ask of his actual age would be extremely rude, but she deduced he was over seven years and understood that was relatively mature in Narnian squirrel years. He'd been born in the years when the 'White Witch' ruled, just in time to witness her downfall by the hands of the Pevensie children, and he'd even met 'Aslan' (who happened to be a talking lion, that, by the sound of it, was pretty much omnipotent), which apparently was a big deal.

By the time they reached the kings camp, Betty knew all there was to know about Willy, his life and his family. She thanked the heavens that they arrived when they did, because otherwise she would have run out of something to say, and the silence would have been awfully impolite.

**Thanks for reading (and reviewing... hint hint). We live off props, so please? **

**That was not me. That was her. She's strange.**


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